


birthing hips

by VerdantMoth



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Boys In Love, Crossdressing, Eyeliner, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Lipstick & Lip Gloss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-16 00:51:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21262394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VerdantMoth/pseuds/VerdantMoth
Summary: He falls asleep. He falls asleep and he isn’t ashamed, thankyouverymuch, because he’s one hundred and two goddamned years old and Bucky is taking longer than he ever took to get ready which is insane to Steve. Bucky doesn’t even fully shave anymore, so there’s no reason for this to be such an Event.





	birthing hips

Bucky is locked in their bedroom cussing and it’s all Nat’s fault. Steve isn’t ever going to  _ confront _ her, or  _ openly blame _ her. But he’s been locked out of his own damn bedroom for almost three hours now, and Bucky’s in there banging about and growing increasingly angry and Steve isn’t quite sure at what point he’s allowed to bust down the door under the guise of national security and mental health checks.

Steve has his hand on the door and for all they swear otherwise, he’s convinced Hydra made witches because two voices yell, “Don’t you dare come in here!” 

There’s more cussing, and something shatters, and Steve sighs as loud as he can. “Tony will murder us if we are late. It’ll be all your fault. A Great American Icon murdered by an Avenger all because you two…” he trails off because he still isn’t even sure  _ what _ they’re up to. 

Hell, he doesn’t even know what his own costume is going to look like, since he hasn’t been allowed near the dry cleaner bag.

One of them throws something, probably a knife, at the door, and Steve raises his hands and goes to the couch to not-pout. 

He falls asleep. He falls asleep and he  _ isn’t ashamed, thankyouverymuch, _ because he’s one hundred and two goddamned years old and Bucky is taking longer than he ever took to get ready which is insane to Steve. Bucky doesn’t even fully shave anymore, so there’s no reason for this to be such an Event. 

But he fell asleep and he knows this because Natasha-fucking-Romanov lands in his lap and smacks a kiss to his check just to startle him. 

And she does. So much so it’s only instinct that prevents him from slinging her into the wall. 

He considers it though.

“Am I allowed to see him now?” He grouses. 

Nat just smiles at him, all teeth, “Time to get dressed Cap!” 

She blindfolds him. 

“Hey now,” he starts, but she just shuffles him around. 

She starts to tug at his shirt but he smacks her hands. “I can do that much!”

He can, but he’s blindfolded and honestly, sight shouldn’t make that much difference stipping down, but he still almost face plants into the floor. 

“What’s that smell?” He asks in a pale attempt to stem her laughter. There is a smell though, something soft and vaguely flowery, that smells almost familiar.

Natasha ignores him and begins tugging his arms through a shirt and buttoning it. She  _ allows _ him to step into his own pants, but then she’s belting him and adding a tie and stuffing him into a jacket. 

“Seems a bit formal,” Steve hedges.

“It’ll be worth it,” she tells him. “Now squat.” He obeys without thinking, and he’s assuming by her snort his blushes is as vibrant as it feels. 

She spends a long time combing his hair and he sniffs. “Where the hell’d’ya find that?” 

“Bucky,” she says gently. 

And of course, because it smells like Bucky used to. 

“S’nice,” Steve says softly. 

Natasha fits something over his stiff hair and steps back. “Okay,” she says in that ‘still thinking’ voice. “What are you missing?”

“This,” Bucky says from somewhere at Steve’s left. 

“I’ll let you fix that,” Natasha says. “I’m off to get ready myself.”

Steve, still blinded, asks, “You got enough time after all this?” 

Natasha kisses his cheek. “See you there, Rogers.”

She leaves and Steve stands there, in a stiff suit. 

He can feel Bucky in front of him, feel the fingers at his chest tucking something against his breast and arranging. He goes to reach for him but Bucky swats his hand away. “Patience, Stevie. Just a bit longer.”

He’s pouting, and he knows it, but Steve can’t help letting his shoulders slump and his lips curl. “Wanna see you,” he grumbles. 

Because it’s been almost a full day since he saw Bucky, and it’s weird. He isn’t used to it, after everything. After the decades and ice, after Wakanda and Thanos. It’s weird, makes him uncomfortable, like the first time Bucky left, and he can’t help himself. He has to reach out and grip what he can.

It turns out to be Bucky’s wrist, and Bucky lifts his hand to Steve’s cheek, thumb stroking gently. “Promise if I take the blindfold off, we’ll make it to Stark’s party?” Bucky asks.

Steve hopes his face shows just how unimpressed he is, “Funny, Buck, but I can handle myself.” 

Bucky mumbles something under his breath, but Steve feels fingers untying the knot at the back of his head, the cloth sliding down his nose.

At first all he can see is the cool grey of Bucky’s not-quite-blue eyes, and he smiles. “Hey there.”

Bucky’s eyes crinkle with laughter, and that’s when Steve  _ notices. _

Natasha has coated his already dark lashes, and lined them in khoal. He remembers girls who used to wear the same silvery powder on their lids, the same wine-stain lips. 

Steve can’t help touching him, because who could? 

He’s not sure if Bucky is actually blushing, or his cheeks are painted as Steve trails his fingers over the stiff black curls. 

The thing is, way back before, Steve had always thought Bucky was kinda huge. Which like, he was  _ tiny _ so  _ everyone _ seemed huge. And then in the war, Bucky carried himself so his always seemed so large compared to everyone. And he is tall, noi staking that, but as Steve’s eyes raking over Bucky, he’s reminded just how  _ sleek _ his best friend really is. 

‘Cause Bucky? He’s wearing some slinky purple slip of a dress, with silvery metallic fringe detailing and Steve wants to wrap his hands around that waist. “Can you even breath?” he asks. 

Bucky gives him a sly grin, “Well, I’ll admit. Corsets of this century are a bit nicer than what we had before.” 

Steve isn’t sure he wants to know how Bucky knows that, but he whistles, making a slow circle around. “And you shaved?” ‘Cause Bucky has miles of pale gold skin all tapering down into delicate black heels, glittery straps catching the light. Bucky wiggles his hips and laughs.

“Like?” He asks. 

Steve just whistles again, mouth too dry for much more. 

Bucky grins and tugs at Steve’s lapels, pulling him towards the large mirror in the bathroom. “Ain’t we a pair?” Bucky purrs in his ears.

And they really are, Steve in his deep brown suit with his slick hair and a perfectly perched fedora. Bucky hangs of his arm, eyes sultry and lips feral, and his hips. 

“God, Bucky, I forgot how nice your waist is,” Steve breaths. 

Bucky snaps his teeth at him, because his birthing hips have always been a bit of a sore spot for him, but he’s not complaining when Steve wraps an arm around him and buries his face in his neck. 

He still can’t name the perfume, except that he thinks he bought something similar once for Bucky. Saved up all the pennies he made selling chariacures one summer to surprise Bucky. 

It's always been their secret for a lot of reasons, and Steve ain’t too sure how he feels about Natasha being let in on it.

Bucky gently tugs at the hair on his neck, “C’mon Stevie. We don’t want Stark murdering a ‘Great Amercian Icon’ as you said.”

Steve sighes into Bucky’s neck. “Let him,” because he’s feeling selfish and he really doesn’t want to share Bucky tonight. 


End file.
